In the Dark of the Night
by whysosiriusblack45
Summary: Ryan tails Mike to an old motel. Angry wall sex ensues.


Mike had lost count of the times Ryan's held him in his arms, but he was pretty sure it was in the double digits. And though Mike ached for the feeling of Ryan's embrace, he knew that every hug meant something tragic and horrible had just happened. Mike wanted it anyways.

Each day was a rollercoaster, one step closer to Joe Carroll. Sometimes, Mike felt like he could reach out and wipe the smirk off Carroll's face. Other times… it felt like Carroll was hiding in the damn rainforest.

And then there's Lily. Fucking bitch. Mike could feel himself slipping a while back, but now—now he was knee deep in seething rage and revenge. He felt like "murderer" had already been stamped across his face. Though he had yet to draw blood, he could see hers staining his hands… and the sight was to die for.

Ryan was getting coffee when Max called. Thinking nothing of it, Mike picked up the phone and answered.

"Hey Max, it's Mike," he said, rubbing weary circles from his eyes. It'd been days since he slept.

"Why're you answering Ryan's phone?" Max asked suspiciously.

"He's getting coffee and left it on the table," Mike replied shortly. "Do you have something?"

Max paused.

"Yeah, actually," she admitted. "We got a hit on facial recognition for Lily Gray. ATM picked her up in Dixon, Massachusetts. Address: 677 Parkington Lane."

Mike didn't wait for her to say another word. He hung up Ryan's phone and dropped it on the table, address burned into his brain. Lily Gray was a dead woman walking.

Massachusetts was a long drive away from the precinct. After about 15 hours on the open road, Mike knew he'd have to pull over and get some shut eye. His mind screamed in protest, but he could barely keep his eyes open for another second. Motel lights lit up the highway, and Mike took the next exit, blinking furiously to stay awake.

That's when he noticed a dark sedan following him, about five cars back. Mike pulled into the motel parking lot and so did the sedan. Too tired and angry to try to lose the tail, he decided to hole up in a motel room and wait. Either his stalker would have the balls to attack or Mike would hunt him down in the morning.

He got a key from the clerk, and made his way up to his room, hand discreetly on his gun the whole way. Mike closed the door behind him and ducked into the corner. It was dark and quiet. Mike pulled out his gun, aiming at the door and waiting silently for his tail to make an appearance or not.

About ten minutes later, Mike heard shuffling. The faint noise of clicking metal informed Mike that his stalker was picking the lock. Lips drawn together tight, he aimed his gun and waited.

There was a click, and the door swung open slightly, revealing the silhouette of a man and the outline of a gun in the dark.

Mike attacked, wrenching the gun from the stranger's grip, before pinning him against the wall with his forearm.

"Don't kill me you moron," the man rasped condescendingly. Mike blinked in surprise.

"Ryan?"

"Course it's me idiot," said Ryan, coughing as Mike slightly backed off, arm still pressed to Ryan's throat.

"Why are you following me?" Mike demanded angrily.

"You think I'm not gonna follow up a lead just because Max gave it to you first?" Ryan smirked. "I thought you're the one who's supposed to say 'don't do this alone.'"

"I _have_ to do this alone, Ryan," Mike said, teeth clenched. "You wouldn't want me tagging along if you found Joe."

"Let me go," Ryan grunted.

"I can't have you tailing me," Mike countered. "You know I'm going to kill her."

"I'm not gonna stop ya."

Mike looked at Ryan in disbelief. He sneered, pressing his arm harder against Ryan's throat, their faces barely an inch apart.

"You're lying," he hissed, eyes locking with Ryan's. The older man squirmed uncomfortably.

"I'm really not," Ryan said. Suddenly, Ryan twisted out of his grasp, flipping their positions and pinning Mike's hands above his head. Mike gasped, his breath knocked out of him as he hit the wall. "Also, you really need to work on your restraining technique."

Mike grunted in pain, trying to wrench his hands free but to no avail.

"Fuck you, Hardy," he spat.

"See, you had me choked, sure, but my arms and legs were totally free," Ryan lectured, leaning in close. Mike could feel the heat of Ryan's body through his clothes.

"Should've knocked you unconscious," Mike lamented as he continued to struggle against Ryan's steel grip.

"But you didn't. That's why I'm teaching you to learn from your mistakes," Ryan murmured. "See, if you're the stronger one, then I recommend this position." His eyes raked over Mike's face hungrily. "You can't punch, you can't head-butt, you can't bite—"

"I can kick though," Mike hissed, foot swinging at Ryan's knee, but Ryan dodged easily and smirked.

"Care to try again?" he taunted. Mike's eyes flashed, and he kicked out again.

This time, before he could get too far, Ryan shoved his knees between Mike's legs, wrenching his thighs apart. Mike flushed, blood pumping with anger and embarrassment as his crotch pressed tightly against Ryan's abdomen.

"Now you're vulnerable," Ryan breathed against his neck, and shivers ran down Mike's spine. "Your move, Mike," he challenged.

Fueled with adrenaline, Mike made one last desperate attempt to kick Ryan's leg out, his heel aiming for the back of Ryan's knee.

Mike grinned at his success as Ryan buckled, but it only made things worse. His hands free, Mike grabbed onto the nearest thing to keep from falling. That thing happened to be the back of Ryan's neck. Furthermore, while in the process of falling, Mike's legs tightened reflexively around Ryan's hips. The result: Ryan's hands grabbing Mike's ass with Mike's back against the wall, their bodies pressed flush against each other.

Ryan stared at Mike, finally at a loss for words. Mike understood the feeling. His heart hammered in his chest, and to his mortification, he could feel himself start to harden at the feeling of Ryan holding him, their bodies touching everywhere. Ryan's gaze flitted to Mike's lips then back to his eyes. Something tugged deep in Ryan's stomach, and he nearly choked when he recognized the sensation: lust.

This punk ass kid was turning him on. Ryan could feel evidence that Mike reciprocated the feeling pressed against his stomach. With a jolt, Ryan realized that his hands were currently digging into Mike's ass, and apparently kneading into the soft flesh swathed in denim on their own accord. Ryan froze, staring into Mike's eyes; he looked as terrified as Ryan felt.

Damn, the kid's eyes were blue. Like fucking oceans.

And then Mike shifted. Almost imperceptibly, but holy shit it made a big difference because Mike sort of slipped downwards and Ryan's shirt rode up, and then it was skin against skin, and crotch against crotch, and holy shit they were both hard.

"Maybe we sh—" Mike began, but he was cut off by Ryan grinding his hips up forcefully, while keeping his eyes on Mike's face. Mike shuddered and groaned, collapsing against Ryan, a spike of lust rocketing up his spine. Ryan did it again, their eyes locked in a heated gaze. Mike panted, fingers threading through Ryan's hair and gripping tight. Ryan's face was of intense concentration, teeth gritted hard as he ground up sharply, greedy for that friction that was so fucking good.

"F-fuck," Mike stuttered, as he rode Ryan hard, setting a rhythm. He wanted Ryan everywhere; he needed him closer, he needed skin and teeth and tongue. His cock ached to be touched, and fuck he wanted Ryan to do it. He wanted Ryan's rough hands to stroke him until he couldn't breathe, to push him over the edge and then pull him back again.

But Ryan wouldn't break his pace. He kept going at that torturously slow rhythm, grinding long and full against Mike, always watching, never touching. Mike wanted to break the gaze so badly, to lunge forward and bite Ryan's lips until they bled, but he couldn't. He was at Ryan's mercy. This shouldn't be so damn hot, dry-humping like a couple of teenagers, but Ryan was fucking him against the wall so good that Mike couldn't get himself to care.

"Please," Mike whispered, begging for anything and everything. Ryan smirked, and Mike felt his hand wander to Mike's waistline, before slipping under the fabric and grasping the flushed flesh beneath. Mike held his breath, unable to tear his eyes from Ryan's, as the fingers wandered lower, brushing between his cheeks to touch him right—

Fuck, Mike blushed furiously. He'd never been touched there, but holy shit it wasn't something Mike would stop anytime soon. Ryan circled his throbbing hole, smirking as Mike gasped when the finger pressed closer, threatening to breach him.

"Oh sh-hit," Mike whimpered at the slight intrusion. Mike knew it was only Ryan's pinky finger, but it felt huge and solid and Mike wanted it in him right now. Ryan held his gaze and continued to grind up, Mike's cock jumping at the combined friction and groping. Mike could feel himself getting close, and he bit his lip in embarrassment—he was going to cream his pants, something he hadn't done since he was teenager.

But then Ryan's finger shoved past that first ring of muscle, and Mike couldn't make himself care because his orgasm was ripping through him like fire and light and holy shit those were stars dancing before his fucking eyes like he was some damn sixteen year old girl. Ryan held him close and fucked him through it, their gaze never breaking.

He knew it sounded cheesy, but Ryan had never seen anything more beautiful than Mike's face as he came. His lips parted in a pink 'O' and suddenly, Ryan was slammed with a mental image of those perfect pink lips sucking his cock, sloppy and shiny and gorgeous—and then he was gone, pulled over the edge by Mike fucking Weston and his perfect fucking lips.

Ryan shuddered through it, collapsing against Mike as they slid down the wall and onto the ground. Mike panted against Ryan's neck, his breath coming out in warm puffs against his skin.

"You're still not coming with me," he managed to say after a few seconds.

"I beg to differ," Ryan smirked, biting Mike's ear playfully.

"Fuck you, Hardy," Mike frowned, nearly dead with exhaustion and perfectly content to fall asleep in Ryan's lap.

"Maybe later," Ryan quipped. "But you should probably get some rest first."

Mike didn't hear him as he nodded off on Ryan's shoulder. Ryan rolled his eyes, groaning, before extricating himself from Mike's sleeping arms. He stood, and back aching with effort, managed to carry Mike to the bed.

Ryan sighed, the cooling come in his boxers already uncomfortable. He quickly undid his pants and pulled off his boxers, preferring to go commando over walking around in come-stained shorts. Ryan groaned, pulling up a chair to keep watch over Mike's sleeping form. It was going to be a long night.


End file.
